Trials and Tribulations
by S. Faith
Summary: Working five years with a man means being able to tell when something remarkable is happening. A story we all know, from a secondary character's point of view, because surely he noticed. Movie universe.


**Trials and Tribulations**

By S. Faith, © 2008

Words: 5,795

Rating: T / PG-13

Summary: Working five years with a man means being able to tell when something remarkable is happening…

Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own the dolls. But I treat them with care.

Notes: A story we all know, from a secondary character's point of view… because surely he _noticed_. (I've wanted to do this story for a v. long while. Thanks to Carly for her always-awesome encouragement.)

* * *

_A Thursday in November_

He didn't know what was happening, but he knew he was witnessing something quite extraordinary. It was very possible that he was seeing things—he was a little distracted given the gravity of what had been accomplished that day—but for as long as he'd known his defender, his friend, he'd never once in five years seen him react in such an unusual way.

………

He was sitting with his wife in his lawyer's office, rejoicing in their victory (and thanking her for her undying support) with little more than tightly clasping her hand in his (it was enough for now), when his lawyer arrived with a stranger. He furrowed his brow, questioning without words why this stranger, a woman, had come in with him.

Behind her, yet two more men, one carrying a camera.

"I know what you're thinking, Kafir," his lawyer, Mark, said proactively. "I know I told you no interviews."

Kafir turned his eyes to the stranger. She was a pretty woman, shorter than Mark even in heels, with blonde hair pulled back into a clasp and a smart dark blue suit under her overcoat. She looked a little dumbstruck as she smiled politely, nodding towards himself and his wife.

Mark continued to speak. "However, I thought holding an interview on our own terms, in my own office, would get the press off of our backs and you can finally have your privacy and live in peace."

Out of the corner of his eye, Kafir saw his wife's mouth curl up in a tiny smile.

"I trust your judgment," Kafir said, allowing a smile of his own. "You've never steered me wrong before."

Mark grinned, then quickly reined it in. "Great." Mark held out his hand, indicating the journalist should come further into the room. "Kafir, Eleanor, this is Bridget Jones. She's from 'Sit Up Britain'."

The bright yellow sign on the side of the camera had boldly indicated as such, but they both nodded in acknowledgement. 'Sit Up Britain' wasn't exactly 'Newsnight', and that made Kafir wonder how Mark had come to choose the obscure little current events show to tell their story.

"Bridget, this is Kafir Aghani and Eleanor Heaney," said Mark, adding, "as I'm sure you already know." The pair rose from their seats on the sofa.

Bridget came close to him, extending her hand. She smiled, and there was nothing insincere about it. "It's very nice to meet you. I'm _so_ glad you won today."

Kafir nodded as he accepted the handshake. "Thank you."

She slipped out of her coat and the pair sat again.

"So," said Mark, "if you'd like to take a seat there—" He indicated a chair next to the sofa where Kafir and his wife were situated. "—your cameraman can set up right there and we can begin."

She looked to Mark, confusion obvious on her face. "What about you?"

He looked equally confused. "Me?"

"Well, of _course_ you," she began, as if she were stating an obvious truth, then continued in a softer tone, "You're the one who defended him. You're the one who saved him."

Bridget was already treading into dangerous territory, and Kafir waited for Mark's predictable reaction; Mark never agreed to do on-air interviews, and was usually very curt in his dismissal at the merest suggestion of one. Instead of the expected frank refusal, though, he watched Mark's head begin to nod ever so slightly. "I'll take that chair, then, and you can sit in the other one, across from me."

Bridget beamed a smile. "Fantastic!"

Kafir turned his head and looked to his wife, who appeared to be equally perplexed. _Maybe they know each other?_ was communicated without words.

The cameraman set up at a vantage point to easily capture all four of them. The interview then commenced, and Bridget launched into the first question:

"Mr Darcy, you were defending Mr Aghani. You must be delighted."

"Yes, well, Kafir Aghani has spent his entire life defending the basic human rights of his own people, and today's verdict has been the result of five years of struggle by this woman, Eleanor Heaney… to save the man she loves from an extradition order that would've been tantamount to a death sentence."

Kafir watched Mark deliver his standard answer about the case, the one he'd given a hundred times before to newspaper reporters, but was utterly amazed at the loss of composure as Mark got to the part about Eleanor 'saving the man she loves'; watched his discomfiture as he stopped talking, his eyes locked with Bridget's. Kafir knew there was more to that little canned speech of Mark's, much more, and he could see Mark's mouth moving with the rest of it; he wondered if Mark was even aware that no sound was coming out.

Definitely unlike anything he'd ever seen before.

"Right," Bridget said after a pause, blinking and shaking herself back to the present. As she pulled herself up in her seat to regain her own bearing, she continued, "And, Eleanor, over to you. Did you fancy Kafir the first time that you saw him?"

Kafir felt himself chuckle before he could stop himself, saw his beloved wife smile. "Absolutely I did. In fact," she said, turning to look at Kafir, squeezing the hand she was holding, "meeting Kafir solidified my belief in love at first sight. It's amazing how love can transform a person."

"Can help one get through the most difficult situations," added Kafir, smiling again. He knew instantly that Mark's reactions and responses had not escaped her notice, either. He squeezed her hand in return.

The rest of the interview vacillated between the serious nature of the charges Kafir had faced and what would have happened had he lost his appeal, and more light-hearted questions about their relationship and how it had endured through all of these hardships. There were plenty of opportunities for Mark to add to the conversation regarding his opinion or thoughts on any aspect of the ordeal, especially the strategy of Kafir's defense, but he said nothing more, just sat there looking intently at Bridget.

Before too long, Bridget turned back to the camera with a smile. "This has been Bridget Jones for 'Sit Up Britain'… with, let's face it, a bit of a crush now, actually." She glanced to her right, towards where they collectively sat, then back to the camera. "Good afternoon."

"And… cut!" The voice of the cameraman sliced through the silence. "Brilliant, doll, brilliant!" With that he began gathering up his equipment and packing it up with the help of the sound man.

Bridget smiled again, turning back to the three of them. "Thank you so much. That was wonderful." He saw that Bridget's gaze had settled on Mark once again.

"Thank _you_, Miss Jones," said Kafir, "—a privilege."

"The privilege was all mine."

Mark cleared his throat. "Glad to have helped." Kafir wasn't sure what he meant by this, but he reasoned he could ask for an explanation later.

Everything went quiet once more, save for the sound of the crew continuing to pack up. "Well," said Bridget at last. "I… should get back to the studio, get on with the editing."

Mark snapped back to attention. "Yes, yes, of course."

She stood and Mark rose along with her. She reached for her coat and slipped it back on, then slung her big black handbag over her shoulder.

The crew picked up their bags and headed out. "Meet you at the van. This shite's heavy."

"Be right behind you." She turned back to Mark, releasing what sounded like a relieved breath. "Thanks again."

"As interviews go," said Mark, "that was the best I could have hoped for." Kafir could not believe his ears.

Bridget's face split into a smile again, her eyes shining. "Thank you." She then tilted her head towards the door. "I… ought to catch up with them."

Mark nodded. "I'll walk you out."

"That's quite all right. You've done enough for me today," she said quietly. Turning back to Kafir and Eleanor, she said, raising her hand in a little wave, "It was nice to meet you—bye."

"Nice to meet you too," called Eleanor as Bridget left the room.

The quiet in the room was quite a change from what they'd gotten used to, and Kafir found himself turning to his wife, smiling, feeling himself getting somewhat emotional. It was really real—they had won their fight. They could go home, they could have supper, watch telly and head off to their own bed together without worrying if this would be the last time they'd ever be able to do so. As her eyes were beginning to glisten with nascent tears, he reasoned she felt somewhat the same.

"I imagine you two might like a lift home." Mark's voice.

Kafir turned to look at Mark, who looked extremely pleased, but oddly enough, not happy. "Yes, that would be very good of you. Thank you." He got to his feet, offering Eleanor his hand to help her to her feet again.

Taking it, Eleanor stood, saying, "When you find out when the interview airs, please do come over and watch it with us."

"Yes, yes," added Kafir quickly.

"The show airs at four. Should give you some time to… have something to eat."

Mark was full of surprises today. It would seem he regularly watched the show, or at least was already familiar with it, and it wasn't difficult to connect why. This would definitely bear discussing later when Kafir and his wife were home alone.

………

They managed to slip out into the street and into Mark's car without being spotted, and their residence had blessedly remained undisturbed, allowing them to go home and experience the utterly novel sensation of peace and quiet. The first thing Kafir did upon crossing the threshold and closing the door behind them was to take Eleanor in his arms and hold her tightly to him. "It's over," he said. "It's really over."

He realised by the muffled sounds she was making into his shoulder that she was sobbing. This surprised him; she had hardly cried at all during the darkest days of this nightmare. He pulled back to look at her, his face surely filled with the concern he felt.

"I'm fine," she said between hiccoughs. "I'm better than fine. For the first time in a very long time I feel like it's okay to breathe again." She smiled as he wiped tears away from under her eyes.

"More than okay." He bent and kissed her; as her arms tightened around his waist, he realised he had never loved her more.

Discussions pertaining to his lawyer would have to wait.

………

It was wonderful to feel like an ordinary couple again; to be able to fall into bed in the middle of the day without the worry of extradition hanging over their heads felt like the greatest gift he could have ever been given. They were dozing lazily when Kafir realised it was probably approaching the time when Mark would be arriving. He reached and kissed his wife, indicating the bedside clock and the time displayed therein.

He swore she actually blushed.

He was just buttoning his trousers up when he heard the phone in the living room start to sound with that special staccato ring indicating the front desk was calling. Three-twenty? Mark was always punctual, but not usually quite so early. He went and answered it. "Yes?"

"Joseph here. Have a delivery at the desk for you."

Eleanor followed him out, furrowing her brow as he met her eyes. "What is it?" she said sotto voce.

For a moment, he grinned inwardly and wondered if Mark hadn't knowingly ordered takeaway for them. "Delivery? What kind of delivery? We're not expecting a delivery."

"A delivery of the floral variety."

"Flowers," Kafir whispered to Eleanor, covering the receiver.

Eleanor shrugged, smiling to Kafir. "Might as well," she said in that same quiet voice. "If it were a ruse, Joseph would know."

"Very true." Into the phone he said, "I'll be right down." He hung up the phone and turned to kiss his wife again, something that would never get old.

She began to giggle, playfully pushing him away. "Go down and get it, already."

After restoring his shirt, he went downstairs, seeing a lovely bouquet of flowers in a wicker basket behind the counter there. He smiled at Joseph.

"Congratulations," said Joseph with a smile. He then added playfully, "Does this mean I'll no longer have to keep the media at bay?"

Kafir could not rein in a chuckle. "I think those days are nearing an end." He pointed to the plant. "Is that our delivery, then?"

Joseph nodded, bringing it to him. The basket was bursting with beautiful, vibrant, fragrant flowers: roses, freesia, lilies and carnations, amongst others he couldn't easily identify. "And this as well." He pulled out a small box with a bow on it; it was a tray of chocolates from the look of it. "The delivery person noted that per the sender these were especially for your wife."

Kafir laughed. He realised he could really get used to laughing again. "Thank you."

There was a card sticking out of the basket, perched on a little plastic trident. He figured he would let Eleanor read it when he got back upstairs… not that he didn't already suspect who had sent it.

Just as he took the basket in hand and the box of chocolates in the other, a voice sounded behind him. "Kafir?"

"Mark," he said, turning around and smiling; he noted that Mark must have gone home and changed out of his barrister suit. "Thank you for the flowers and the candy. That was very kind of you."

It seemed that Mark was just as taken aback as Kafir had initially been. "Those are not from me."

He wasn't sure why Mark's tone worried him so, but it did, so Kafir said, "There's a card, but my hands are full. Go ahead and see who it's from."

Mark he pulled it off of its fork to read it. Kafir could not quite discern his reaction as he did, and once he was finished, he seemed to be looking through the card, not really at it.

"Mark?" asked Kafir with some concern. "Who is it from?"

As if startled by the sound of his own name, his head jerked up to look at Kafir. "Oh. It's from Bridget. Ms Jones. From 'Sit Up Britain'. Let's go back to your flat, shall we?" Mark absently stuffed the card into his pocket.

They walked to the lift. Mark pressed the button to call the lift, and the doors instantly opened. As the car traveled upwards toward their floor, Kafir asked, "So what does the card say? Surely it didn't take that long to read it if it was just her name."

"Oh." He dug his hand into his pocket. "Here. I'll take the basket."

They traded basket for card and Kafir read what Bridget had written:

_Dear Kafir and Eleanor,_

_Thank you very much for allowing me to interview you today. I couldn't have spent a working birthday better. Please be sure to thank Mark for me, too; it was very kind of him to arrange it. I hope the flowers will make your home as bright as your future will be. As for the chocolate, I couldn't resist—what woman doesn't love Milk Tray? I hope Eleanor enjoys them when you finally come up for air. :)_

_Best wishes,_

_Bridget Jones_

Kafir laughed out loud. "I like her. She's got real personality."

He caught Mark smiling to himself, but he quickly composed his features again as if he hadn't been. "Yes, that she does," he said.

He could no longer take not knowing and asked, "Are you close with this Bridget?"

The bell chimed, the doors opened, as the lift reached Kafir's floor. "We're here," said Mark as he stepped out into the hallway.

As they re-entered the flat, Eleanor greeted them at the door. "I was wondering what was keeping you. Hello Mark. I've put the kettle—oh my God, a flowerbed exploded," she said abruptly, seeing the basket of blooms.

As Mark set down the flowers, Kafir explained, "They're from our interviewer, Bridget. As are these."

Eleanor laughed as she accepted the box of chocolate. "Milk Tray. Haven't had these in forever."

"Here's the card," he said, handing it to his wife. She took it, read it, and looked up to her husband with an expression he hadn't seen in quite a while: eyebrows raised, devilish grin in place, the personification of amused disbelief.

Not looking away from Kafir, she said, "Mark, have a seat and I'll fix you something to drink. Tea? Coffee? Wine, maybe?"

"Tea sounds fine," he said as he took a seat. "Is this your telly remote? I'll find the right station. Just a few minutes to airtime."

"Yes."

"Kafir, could you join me? I'll need help carrying the tea and biscuits."

Once in the kitchen, after allowing the swing door to close behind them, Eleanor turned her big bright eyes to Kafir. "Tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"What's going on with Mark, of course!" she said in a low hiss. "I have never seen him act this way in the years we've known him. Allowing an interview? Allowing _himself_ to be interviewed? Anxious to catch a fairly tabloid-esque show on the telly?" She stared at him, narrowing her eyes. "How does he know her? How _well_ does he know her?"

"I don't know."

Her mouth gaped open. "You didn't _ask_?"

"Of course I asked, but the lift had the temerity to arrive at our floor at just that moment," he said wryly.

"We've got to find out," said Eleanor, quickly fixing three cups of tea, throwing the contents of a packet of biscuits onto a pretty little glass plate. "Come on."

The show had just begun by the time they'd gotten out into the living room, and Mark was sitting there the sofa, jacket unbuttoned, leaning forward, his eyes fixed on the screen, his elbow on the arm of the sofa and his chin firmly planted on the palm of his hand. Eleanor placed the cup of tea on the table in front of him but he made no move to pick it up. He murmured a "Thank you."

Kafir and Eleanor also seated themselves and they waited with bated breath for the interview—not so much for the interview itself, but to watch Mark watching it.

The interview came on fairly soon into the show and they alternately watched the screen and Mark in an unspoken schedule of sorts. Kafir was fairly sure Mark didn't blink the entire time they were on. However, ten minutes later, at the conclusion of the interview when Bridget mentioned the crush, he most certainly _did_ blink.

As the show moved on to a different subject, Mark sat back into the sofa, running his hand down over his mouth. He did not immediately speak.

"I think that went very well," offered Eleanor at last.

Mark turned his eyes to her. "Yes. I agree. Very well."

"You should do interviews more often, Mark. You're very photogenic, and you speak so eloquently," she said.

He offered a small smile. "Thank you, but I think not."

"So what exactly was the difference this time?" she asked. "Was it because Bridget is a friend?" Subtle, that woman.

"She—well, no, she's not really a friend, but sort of." Kafir shared a look with Eleanor. "We were acquainted as children."

"That clears things up," said Kafir drolly.

"We were recently reacquainted as adults," he continued. "It wasn't going smoothly at first but things seem to be… working out."

"Oh, that's good." Eleanor drank the last of her tea.

"I was able to prevent her from getting sacked today," Mark added, which explained the last-minute interview to both of them.

"That was very big of you, knowing how much you dislike interviews, but I can see why you did it. She seems very nice. Very honest—refreshing for the media. Quite pretty. And a smashing sense of humour."

Kafir watched Mark's expression closely; Eleanor, he realised, was watching too. Mark was trying very hard to remain inscrutable and failing miserably.

Eleanor then asked, "So are you going to take her out or what?"

Mark went slightly pallid at the very suggestion.

"It's rather obvious that you like her," she continued.

Mark pursed his lips together tightly. "Rather obvious?" he said stonily.

"We've gotten to know you very well through our trials and tribulations," said Kafir, "so yes. Rather obvious."

"And I venture to say the feeling's mutual," chimed in Eleanor.

Mark cleared his throat. "Oh."

Eleanor set her tea cup down. Kafir noticed Mark had not had any of his tea at all.

"Mark," she said with a gentle smile, "I know this started out as a professional association, but you've been with us so long and through so much with us it's hard not to consider you a friend. And as a friend, I'm telling you—follow your instinct on this."

"You should call her," said Kafir, "and let her know we received her gift and were touched by her thoughtfulness. And tell her how well you thought the interview went."

"Oh," added Eleanor. "Better yet… she did mention it was her birthday."

"Yes," Mark said softly. "She did." He looked down, and Kafir swore he saw a smile light on the corner of his mouth. When he looked back up, it remained, though his voice was all business again when he spoke. "So tomorrow morning, ten a.m., my office?"

Eleanor nodded, and Kafir grinned. "Yes. See you then."

Mark rose from the sofa, buttoning his suit jacket, then smoothing it down. They both also stood to see him out. "Have a good night," Mark said.

"You too. Relax a little, will you?" Eleanor suddenly reached forward and hugged Mark. "And I can never say it enough: thank you." She released her embrace, grinning.

"You are very welcome. It's why I enjoy what I do. Gives me great satisfaction." Mark turned and held out his hand to Kafir, but Kafir brushed it aside and gave him a friendly hug too.

"It would give _me_ great satisfaction to see you find someone to make you as happy as I am," he said as he stood straight again. "So for once follow our counsel and give that lovely lady a call."

Mark chuckled. "I think I'll do one better than that. Good night. And Eleanor, enjoy your chocolate." To Kafir's surprise, Mark actually gave a little wink as he departed the flat.

He felt Eleanor's fingers along his arm, then travel to take him around the waist. "We never did have anything to eat," she murmured.

"You could have chocolate," he quipped.

………

The evening was spent in a rather honeymoon-like manner; Kafir and Eleanor did eventually have more to eat than chocolate, and never had Indian takeaway tasted so exquisite. Morning came all too soon though, evidenced by the aroma of Turkish coffee wafting through the flat. He opened his eyes, saw Eleanor picking out clothing, saw she'd brought in two cups of brew with her.

"Good morning," he said scratchily.

She turned, grinning. "Good morning." She turned, handing him his cup. "Sorry I didn't wake you sooner, but I think you got the best night sleep you've gotten in years, and I couldn't bear to wake you."

He smiled. "Five years, or thereabouts, yes."

"I know. I did, too. It's still sinking in that it's really over."

He nodded. "Just take care of the details today, and we can get on with our life."

She sat on the bed. He loved how comfortable she was with him, with her own body, even as she sat there only in a bra and pants, buttoning up her shirt. "Our life. Yes." She looked slightly fretful, though.

"What is it?"

"Oh, just wondering how last evening went for Mark."

Kafir chuckled. With a narrow escape from a certain death now behind them, she of course had to find something else to worry about. "We'll find out soon enough, I suppose. I'm very optimistic."

"I am too," said Eleanor. "I saw how she was looking at him. But you know Mark, the perfectionist that he is. If putting himself out there doesn't go exactly as planned, he might be put off trying forever."

"I'm thankful for his perfectionist tendencies," said Kafir, "else I might not be here with you in this most ordinary and domestic of situations."

She chuckled, reached to kiss him. "Come on, up with you. We have to be there in forty-five minutes."

He had just enough time to take a quick shower and have some toast with his coffee before they headed out the door. They arrived at Mark's chambers with little time to spare only to find that Mark was not yet there.

The pretty young assistant smiled. "He's running a little behind. He wanted me to tell you go to and wait in his office."

Eleanor turned to Kafir, raising a brow. It was not like Mark at all to be late.

When Mark showed up ten minutes later, it was quickly apparent that the previous evening had turned out to be anything but what had been hoped for. Mark had a slightly swollen cheek, distinct bruising on the left corner of his mouth, and a scrape just under his eye. Kafir heard Eleanor gasp. His first thought escaped his lips before he had a chance to stop it: "Did someone attack you because of me?"

Mark turned his dark eyes to Kafir, and the sadness there was more than enough to answer the question. "I suffered from an unfortunate case of machismo last night. Let's leave it at that."

"Mark, what happened?" coaxed Eleanor gently.

Mark slipped out of his suit jacket, loosened his tie, then sighed. "Oh, the evening went fairly well. Then her ex, my former friend, showed up. We fought. And she sided with him."

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

"It isn't important," Mark said dismissively. "Let's get down to work." He reached into his attaché, pulled out a stack of papers. "I just have a few things for you to sign and we're officially done."

"Mark, don't give up so easily," pleaded Eleanor.

He looked up from the papers, meeting her eyes with his own. "I'm not in the habit of beating a dead horse."

"I still don't think—"

In a very stiff tone, Mark interrupted, "Eleanor, Kafir, I appreciate your concern for my happiness, but it would seem that 'nice guys finish last' is a saying for a reason."

Eleanor looked down.

Kafir, however, did not. "I used to think so too. And then I found her." He reached for Eleanor's hand, startling her into looking up again.

Mark looked to Kafir, met his eyes, before blinking and looking away. He was silent for a few minutes, then said in a much quieter tone, "If you'll sign where the yellow tabs are, our business is concluded." Kafir knew it was not a dismissal, but Mark's way of trying to return to a semblance of normalcy, even if Mark's idea of normalcy was far more rigid than any other man's he knew.

They signed where requested, then all three rose from their seats and sighed heavily at the same time. It made Kafir and Eleanor laugh, and as for Mark, at least it put a ghost of a smile on his face again.

"Thank you again," said Kafir, grasping Mark's hand and squeezing very hard, clasping tightly over the back of Mark's hand with his left one. "I owe you my life."

"All in a day's work," Mark jested, grinning more broadly.

"Take care of yourself," said Eleanor, who took it upon herself to go around the desk and give Mark a quick hug again. "Don't be a stranger, all right?"

Mark nodded. "After seeing you both nearly every day for the last five years, it almost feels like we're breaking up."

Kafir and Eleanor both laughed, but then she turned serious again for a moment, engaging his eyes and speaking sternly to him: "I mean it. Don't give up. We didn't." She reached up and pecked a friendly kiss into his cheek. Mark looked quite stunned.

Eleanor and Kafir left, ready to face the rest of their life.

………

When Kafir received a message three weeks later from Mark advising them he was leaving to take a position with a firm in New York, he felt unexpectedly sad. Eleanor, however, was philosophical about it. "Sometimes you have to put a little distance between yourself and the things you care about in order to see them in the right perspective," she said with a wistful smile.

Late in December, Eleanor returned to work at the home office in London. Kafir spent exactly three days on his own in absolute boredom in the flat before deciding he needed something more, and since his résumé to date was poor at best for the average forty-hour-a-week job, he began working on organising the totality of the events in his life, his struggle for the freedom of his people and for himself, all into a comprehensive outline, with the thoughts of someday being published. It was a story he wanted, needed, to tell.

In early January, he received another call from Mark.

"Mark!" said Kafir, grinning. "How's New York?" He glanced to the clock, mentally subtracting five hours from eleven a.m. "Wow, it must be fairly early there."

There was silence on the other end of the phone for a moment. "I'm not in New York." Unless he was mistaken, Mark was smiling. He could hear it in Mark's voice. "I ended up not staying. I'm back in London, and that's why I'm calling, actually."

"Back? Fantastic!"

"I have a surprise of sorts for you, and I'd like to invite you out to dinner tonight, if you and Eleanor are free."

"Even if we weren't, we'd clear our calendar. Tell me when and where."

When he gave Eleanor the news, she was beside herself with joy. "It'll be good to see him again. It rather has felt like we divorced him." Kafir laughed.

In their years of making appointments with Mark, they had made a habit of thinking they needed to be there fifteen minutes in advance of the actual meeting, and so showed up to the restaurant at quarter to seven. Surprisingly, when they advised the _maître d'_ they were there to dine with Mark, he advised Kafir that Mark had not yet arrived, and they were invited to wait in the bar. He ordered a coffee for himself and a glass of white wine for Eleanor, and they leaned back in the tall bar seats to wait.

Kafir ended up having two cups of coffee. Eleanor was on her second glass of wine when Eleanor coughed on the sip she'd taken. Alarmed, he looked to her, to see her eyes fixed on the restaurant's entrance. He turned his own gaze to see what had so surprised her, and he realised instantly why she'd had trouble swallowing her wine.

It was Mark. He was smiling broadly as he looked into the eyes of the woman whose shoulders he had his arm around; as his smile faded, his eyes did not tear away from the object of his gaze. He dropped his head to place a tender kiss on her lips, then continued quite thoroughly kissing her as they stood there in the front of the restaurant.

There was no mistaking who the woman was, which was why Kafir and Eleanor alike found themselves grinning ear to ear, even as the_ maître d'_ ahemmed to interrupt the snogging pair to ask the name on the reservation. They watched as the two of them broke apart and turned similar shades of scarlet as Mark gave him his name. As the _maître d'_ pointed in the direction of the bar, he saw both sets of eyes turn to where Kafir and his wife were rising from their stools with those same grins in place.

He was of course with Bridget, their former interviewer… apparently in more ways than one.

As Kafir and Eleanor approached Mark and Bridget, Mark said, "Surprise," clasping Bridget's hand firmly in his own.

It was a very pleasant beginning to an exceptional evening. Bridget explained how it came to be that she and Mark had ended up together after all, and as she did so, it was not hard to miss the tenderness of the gaze Mark directed towards the blonde beauty. "If I could go back in time and undo that one moment…" Bridget said, drifting off.

"Which moment is that?" Mark asked of her.

"Oh, the one in which I ever believed a word that bastard said about you," she said impishly, then she leaned forward to press her lips to Mark's, retreating with a glowing smile. "It's very nice to see you again," she continued, speaking to Kafir and Eleanor, still holding on to Mark's hand. Kafir guessed they had not been together for very long—the first blush of love was so plain to see, that stage where a constant physical connection seemed as necessary as oxygen. "Mark didn't tell me we were meeting you for dinner, but I'm so pleased! How have you been since I saw you last?"

"Very well, indeed," said Eleanor. "I'm working again, and Kafir…" She looked to her husband, suddenly seeming unsure whether or not he wanted to share that he was writing a book.

Bridget turned her eyes to Kafir, then back to Eleanor. "Yes?"

No harm in telling her; it was not as if they were being interviewed again. "I'm working on writing about my… life."

"Oh, a _book_?" she said, her mouth forming an O.

"Well… yes. Hopefully, it will be published sooner or later."

Bridget only smirked knowingly. "Maybe sooner than later," she said enigmatically before explaining, "I still have connections in the publishing world. I'm sure they'd love to have your story." At Mark's confused expression, she explained to him, "Perpetua, silly."

The exchange made little sense to Kafir and Eleanor, but Mark seemed relieved, and he even laughed. In fact, he generally seemed far more relaxed than they'd ever known him to be.

_Amazing how love will do that_, Kafir thought.

………

They stayed in sporadic contact with Mark and were saddened to hear of his split with Bridget; Eleanor, however, remained ever optimistic. Given his wife's track record, he felt he had no choice but to remain optimistic as well.

When the wedding invitation arrived in late June, he found himself sharing a rather smug smirk with his extremely prescient wife.

_The end._


End file.
